


Tickets to the Gun Show

by AliLamba



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Community Service, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Police, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, VMTAP20, breakfast burritos, forced to work together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliLamba/pseuds/AliLamba
Summary: “You’re kidding. You’rekidding. You’re the person about to give me a ticket.”It’s not the first time someone has been less than intimidated by her physical appearance, and, after two years on the force and a few months in this town, Veronica knows just how to respond.“License and registration please.”(Only the last, totally unnecessary chapter is E. The rest is a very safe T, if you have gentle sensibilities.)
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 65
Kudos: 177





	1. don't save my life i can do it myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> artwork by [marshmellowbobcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmazzy)!  
> 

“You’re kidding. You’re _kidding_. _You’re_ the person about to give me a ticket.”

It’s not the first time someone has been less than impressed by her physical appearance, and, after two years on the force and a few months in this town, Veronica knows just how to respond.

“License and registration please.”

Okay. So. Really it’s just easier to ignore them – or it’s just, quite a lot less paperwork, actually.

The guy in the obnoxiously yellow (and brand new) Nissan Xterra huffs and puffs a lot as he leans over to the glove compartment, cursing and throwing shit out of the way as he digs for the required documentation. Veronica takes a moment to inspect the interior. Lots of empty water bottles, sunscreen, sand all over the floor rugs, and wet hair – this guy has just come from the beach.

Sherlock Mars, they call her.

No they don’t.

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

“Why is there a prize?” he asks, snide, and Veronica feels the grimace before she can stop it. She takes a minute to remember the paperwork.

Veronica grabs the license from his outstretched hand and sticks it onto her clipboard, and starts filling out the form.

“I got you going eighty in a construction zone,” she reports, pen scratching.

“Yeah, gotta watch out for those precious hazard cones,” he muses, both hands on the steering wheel. “They must have little cone families that are so worried thinking they won’t make it home every day.”

Her pen stops moving, and she glances up at him.

“Just making a joke,” he says, turning back toward his windshield.

Veronica starts writing again. He starts thrumming his fingers.

His tapping gets louder. “Just checking, but, no way I’m getting out of this, right?”

“ _Nope_ ,” Veronica says, maybe too loudly. This is not turning into her favorite stop of the day, but frankly, she’s never had a _fun_ traffic stop.

He drops his hands and turns toward her. “Okay, but – jesus I know you’re wearing the uniform but – are you even _old_ enough to be a cop? Are you old enough to _drive?_ I mean, you’re like, what are you, twelve?”

She glances at his ID. “I’m the same age as you.” She looks closer. “Actually, I’m four months older.”

“Fucking christ,” he swears.

There are – okay, there are a lot of reasons Veronica Mars should not be handing out traffic violations. For one, she got the highest score in her class on the written officer exam. For another, her dad is the freaking chief of police. And third: literally everyone knows she is just biding her time, putting in the hours, until she can take the detective’s exam and be done with the blue, skin-tight uniform and stupid hat. She keeps writing on the form.

“Why were you going so fast, anyway?”

He clicks his tongue. “Need for speed, sweetheart, it’s in my veins.”

She frowns at him. Even with her aviators on, it’s not particularly menacing. Someone should make smaller aviators.

“Yeah probably shouldn’t be calling you sweetheart.”

“Ya think?” she says, again, just a hair too loud. Paperwork.

Veronica finishes up the ticket. It comes with a $456 fine payable in cash or check within 90 days. She cannot imagine that will be difficult for this guy who apparently has the leisure to spend his Mondays at the beach in his brand new car, so she doesn’t launch into her spiel about traffic court and contesting the ticket and volunteer hours in the place of payment blah blah blah. Or that, _should_ you contest it, Veronica usually doesn’t go to court on the second _Tuesday_ of the month, and if the cop doesn’t show up, the ticket’s usually thrown out.

She rips off his copy and hands it over. He doesn’t reach for it right away.

“Yeah. Uh. So I gotta know – how many people have asked for your number after you’ve pulled them over.”

Her jaw clenches. “Please, don’t.”

He grins. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do it.”

“Don’t…steal a traffic cone? But I’ve always wanted to adopt.”

She nearly groans and pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. It makes the asshole idiot driver’s eyes widen just a bit. “No, don’t do the thing where you think just because I’m your age and female that you assume you have a chance with me. That despite this being a horrendously inappropriate time, as I’ve just literally called you out for being a shitty, unsafe driver, do not think I am at all – _at all_ – interested in you. I did not spray perfume on this; I only carry pepper spray. So – no. Don’t do it. Because then I have to do my job, and I’m pretty much done with my job for the day.”

 _Damnit._ She is going to have _so much_ paperwork to do.

“So,” the idiot says, leaning against his open window. “You’re almost done for the day?”

“Oh fucking – “ Veronica groans through her teeth, then pitches her fist at her belt. “You know what? Yeah, my number, let’s just skip to that. You want my number? It’s fucking _9-1-1_.”

“9-1-1 that’s pretty good.”

Veronica tries really hard to remember her breathing. She rubs her hand over her forehead, then yanks the ticket pad off her belt.

“Whoa whoa whoa – “ he starts to say, when he sees she’s writing again. “What? What’d I do now!”

She works her jaw without looking up.

“Logan Echolls,” she recites. “Didn’t you know it’s illegal to drive without wearing a shirt.”

She thinks of him sporadically for the next few days and weeks, whenever she sees one of those stupid cars, for one, or when she and her dad are talking about some burglary at some rich person’s house. She’d looked up the name, _Logan Echolls_ , just because she was curious. Or diligent, whatever. But she and her dad are new in town, and it felt like the right thing to do.

Of course Logan’s dad’s a movie star. Of course, in this ridiculous city, she’d run into the son of a movie star.

And given him a ticket for indecent exposure.

 _Whatever_ , she thinks, literally shaking it off as she heads into court for the morning. It’s the thing where she’s supposed to show up in case anyone she’s ticketed feels like asking whether her speed gun is currently in warranty, or something (of course it’s in warranty), and she does it literally out of complete obligation. She brought some case files her dad wanted her to look at, and finds a seat in an empty conference room. Someone will find her if she’s needed.

“Hey, Veronica, Judge O’Dell wants to see you?” It’s Officer Sacks, one of the few on the force who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

“What, O’Dell? Seriously?”

“That’s what he said,” Sacks mumbles, and Veronica frowns as she starts picking up her stuff.

She’s still frowning as she makes her way to the courtroom, wondering who would’ve bothered to show up today. She’s sure she was clear that it’s _the second_ _Tuesday_ she’s busy…

“Ah. There she is. Officer Mars.”

Veronica looks up, and scans the room. Not many civilians, really, just a few seniors sleeping in the back row. And near the front…

Her eyes go wide.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Oh good,” Judge O’Dell says from the bench. “So you remember Mr. Echolls.”

Logan Echolls is draped over the entire defense table, and he taps his temple in mock salute when he sees her looking. “ _Hello_ , officer.”

Veronica tilts her chin up as she walks the rest of the way to the front of the room. There’s some lawyer in a too-big suit at his side. Seriously? He brought a lawyer to _traffic court?_

She takes the prosecutor’s table.

“So, let me get this straight,” Judge O’Dell starts, folding his hands in front of him. “The defendant, mister Echolls, may have been going a bit too fast.”

Logan holds a hand against his chest. “I was concerned for a family member, okay. I was just thinking of the families.”

_Traffic cone babies._

Whether or not Judge O’Dell understands him, he shuffles his shoulders a little. “And what were you telling me, about this, this indecent exposure charge?”

“Yes, as I was saying,” Logan continues, and Veronica nearly _rolls her eyes_ at his tone. “There was, a child. A little child, on the street. All alone, you see. And he didn’t have a shirt, so really, I had no choice, your honor. As the lord said…let not thyself be clothed, if, your neighbor doth be, not.”

Logan’s lawyer clears his throat but adds nothing.

“Yes, well,” O’Dell says, leaning back. “There you have it, Officer Mars. Don’t you feel better now that you have the whole story?”

Veronica feels her lips stretch to show her teeth. Maybe it’s a smile. Probably not.

“Your honor,” she starts, “I do believe I acted in good faith when I—“

“Oh, yes, definitely in good faith. But surely, extraneous circumstances.”

She raises her eyebrows. _Little. traffic. cone. babies._

Judge O’Dell picks up his gavel.

“Mr. Echolls, I think we’ll settle at community service, hmm?” Logan dips his head in supplication, and O’Dell smiles, charmed. “Let’s see. How about you help out Officer Mars? She’s new in town, and I’ve been told she has _many_ projects I’m sure would help benefit the community.”

Veronica nearly tips her chair over, trying to stand so quickly. “Sir—“

“Yes, I think that would be quite good. Let’s say, sixty hours? That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“ _Your Honor_ ,” Veronica stresses, panicking only a little. _Did he just say –_ “I hate to protest, but I am _not_ a 501(c)(3)—“

“Ohh, Veronica, stop being so serious. Let the boy fetch you coffee for all I care. Get your dry cleaning. I wouldn’t let him clean your service weapon, but you know. He’s harmless! Look at him.”

Veronica is gritting her teeth as she cuts a glance in his direction.

Logan is leaning over the table now, resting his chin on folded hands.

_Oh for the love of._

Judge O’Dell pounds his gavel. “Wonderful! Court is adjourned I think. Logan, tell your father I’m looking forward to Sunday. Tee-time is ten-forty yes? Perfect. Perfect time.”

Veronica isn’t sure who to glare at first. The judge, who is busy managing his billowing robes as he walks back to his chambers, Logan, who is grinning like an idiot and doing little salutes to the bailiff and the seniors in the back, or…or freaking Officer Sacks, who looks the epitome of absolute helpless pity.

_Great._

Logan hones in on her.

“You hear that, Officer Mars? _Harmless._ Me.”

“Ohh,” she says. “This is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it.”

Veronica arranges for him to be at her desk at 0800 Monday morning, and she can’t decide whether she’d like him to actually show up or not. If he did, she’d have to deal with him _all day._ If he didn’t, she’d have to go track him down and arrest him for violation of the terms of his release, or something, and she’d probably have to wait for the most publicly humiliating way possible, for him. Maybe when he’s in a public bathroom. Yeah that’d be good.

But no.

She’s just reviewing her emails, drinking the crappy Folger’s coffee Desk Sergeant Dent keeps insisting they buy, when there’s some mild amount of commotion and weird, scattered applause.

Veronica turns, and sees Logan Echolls walking through her precinct. He’s wearing his sunglasses even inside, and he’s doing the finger points and salutes thing, as if he’s honestly some sort of god damn hero. In fact, while he’s making his way toward her, more than a few of her _coworkers_ glare in her direction, as if to say, see? He’s not a bad kid.

He’s brought friggen donuts.

Ugh.

Logan stops right in front of her desk and pops open the pretty pink lid.

“Now, Officer Mars, are you a cream filled? Or a chocolate old fashioned kind of girl.”

“I’m a _I like to get my work done and go home on time_ kind of girl,” she snaps, and she ignores the pointed _cough_ of one of her more friendly coworkers as he passes just by her desk. Logan offers him a donut, which Wallace takes.

Traitor.

Veronica returns to her computer. “Just, sit down and don’t touch anything.”

“Title of my sex tape,” he muses, tossing the box of donuts on some neighboring desk and floating into the extra chair by hers. He’s quiet for all of twenty seconds while she squints at the screen, reading.

“So,” he says, head propped on one hand.

Veronica ignores him, twisting her lips together as she types out a quick reply on her keyboard.

“So do I…“ he continues, and again she clicks through her email and starts trying to read something else.

“Hey when do we get to go to the gun range? I bet you guys have a flamethrower. _Please_ tell me you have a flamethrower.”

“We do _not—_ “ she starts, but then she realizes she’s not exactly sure. “Look, we are not going to be doing anything besides keeping you, a _civilian_ , safe and mildly busy for the next,” she checks the clock on her screen. “Fifty nine hours and fifty six minutes, okay. Just, stop trying to piss me off.”

“What happens if I piss you off? Oh man. _Please_ tell me, please just once, can you say: you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. Please just once. I’ll wait.”

She glares at him.

“No.”

She spends a few hours on patrol with Wallace and keeps threatening to tase Logan if he won’t stop whining about being so bored. Wallace finds him infinitely amusing, which is very rude. But, through some miracle of a forty minute lunch break, they make it through the day, and Veronica is giving report to her incoming replacement.

“Tomorrow again please,” she’s telling Logan, opening the bottom drawer of her desk and flicking through the hanging files. “Let’s just try to get this over with as quickly as possible okay?”

“Any requests for tomorrow?” he asks, hands in pockets. “I mean, personally I like the breakfast burritos on Broadway, but, to each their own.”

She glares up at him. Damn him for also liking the breakfast burritos on Broadway.

“No thank you. Your tax dollars pay me just fine.”

“Hmm,” he hums, backing away, before doing his stupid salute again with his fingers.

“So. I hate my job.”

“Preach, girl.”

Mac is her best friend for about a hundred thousand reasons, not least of which is her ability to be supportive from 500 miles away.

“I mean, _you know_ how I feel about your job, but, was it something specific?”

Veronica sighs and rolls onto her stomach. From her living room floor she tells Mac about Logan, and O’Dell, and the donuts and everything. She’s drinking one of those seltzer waters with alcohol in it. The can is pink. It tastes okay.

“So, just your basic case of white privilege, corruption, and good old fashioned nepotism.”

“Umm yep. Yup. I think you’re three for three there.”

Mac laughs.

“I don’t even know what to _do_ with him.”

“He’s cute right?”

“Whoa I didn’t say that.”

“It was implied.”

Veronica spends a hot second trying to figure out when or how she implied anything of the sort, when—

“So I dunno have him do push-ups,” Mac says, and the back of Veronica’s neck gets hot. Damn pink can of alcohol. “Make him be your desk chair. Oh I know, make him _be your freakin_ _desk_.”

Veronica points absently at her couch. “Pretty sure the Geneva Convention says we can’t do at least, _two_ of those.”

She is having a damn hard time shaking the mental image though.

“Oo oh oh. Make him wash _cars_.”

Veronica spends a second spluttering. “That would – _no!_ I mean, no. We can’t do that.”

“Dang he is hot though.”

“What?”

“I looked him up.”

Veronica groans and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Yes they’ve known each other since freshman year of college, but Mac is no longer her best friend, she’s decided. Yup. She’s officially on the market.

She’ll never admit it, but she has dreams about Logan Echolls washing her dishes.

The next day she’s making him alphabetize her files, much to Mallory’s chagrin.

He’s doing a terrible job.

“Now, I know this says ‘resisting arrest,’” he starts, and Veronica is already clenching her teeth, “but shouldn’t it really say ‘defending my right...to party?’”

Ah. Dick Casablancas.

“Just, put it where it’s supposed to go,” she says, sharp. “And stop reading those files.”

“Well it can’t really be super sensitive information or you wouldn’t have me, lowly civilian, touching it with my pure bare hands.”

She glares at him, and keeps typing her report.

“ _And then I say to him_ ,” Mercer says, passing right by her desk with Officer Haldeman, whom she just so happens to loathe. “Weevil, you so much as breathe funny, and I pop a cap right into your buddy’s god damn butthole.”

Haldeman laughs way too loud; this ridiculously high pitched little squeal, almost. Mercer is mid-stride when he meets her stare with a stupid smirk, but he doesn’t try to stop at her desk. She knows her gaze is cold as she stares him down. He hasn’t tried to stop at her desk, for months now. Hmm.

 _Ugh_ , she groans to herself, watching them disappear. _Sometimes_ _I just want to burn this place to the ground._

It’s the silence, first, which makes her realize that she’s said this out loud. It’s the silence, which makes her face gets warm, get hot, as she turns and looks at Logan.

His eyes are wide.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Her nostrils flare a little. Logan puts up a hand, a half-shrug.

“Arson? What’s arson?”

“Just—“ she breathes, really glad for the muffins in the break room or so many other people would be giving her awkward looks, “just shut up and alphabetize.” She chances a glance at Detective Hayes’ back, but he’s well out of range.

“Yes, alphabetize,” Logan says, completely ignoring instruction number three hundred and seven. “The letter A. A is for... Hey. What does arson start with again?”

She stares at him impassively.

It’s going to be a long day.

She realizes after a week that she’s started to be weirdly comfortable with him around. Mostly, she notices, because she’s still sitting at her desk one day at nearly ten a.m.

“No little buddy today?” Jackie asks, leaning her hip on Veronica’s desk.

“Nope,” she answers, dragging her mouse around the screen kind of aimlessly. “He’s taking the day off. Real work, and all that.”

“Do those guys even have real jobs? I mean, I didn’t think surfing and spending your daddy’s money really came with standard working hours.”

“Hell if I know,” Veronica says, sitting up straighter. “I’m just glad for the _peace_ , and, _quiet_.”

Jackie snorts. “Yeah but. It’s not like he was bad to look at.” She winks heartily at Veronica, and heads to the kitchen, where Wallace is waiting with her third cup of the day.

Veronica frowns.

That is just. Why do people keep bringing that up.

And then he has to go and save her damn life.

They’re just coming back to the precinct after another long and uneventful day. Wallace is finally getting tired of Logan begging for his phone, begging them to play twenty-questions, insisting he’s starving when they all ate less than an hour before. They’d only made two traffic stops and no arrests, and Veronica’s distracted all day because she’d found something amiss in the lock-up inventory. She doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Seriously, Logan, we cannot go get Frappucinos just because cops drink for free.”

“And you shouldn’t! Is my point. Y’all get paid, don’t you?”

Wallace is grumbling. “He’s got a point.”

Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose. “This counts, right? As aggravated assault? No? Wait, there’s one about yelling. I _know_ there’s one about yelling.” Wallace laughs.

“Don’t think run-of-the-mill obnoxiousness is a crime.”

She opens one eye at him.

“Yet.”

She smiles. There are many good reasons she’s friends with Wallace, and this is one of them.

“ _Where is that god damn bitch!_ ” a voice suddenly yells, near the doors, and it all happens _way, way_ too fast. One second, they’re joking about penal codes, and the next, someone has followed them inside the building, and is waving a long-barrel shotgun around like freaking Yosemite Sam.

Veronica has all of half of a second to take in the details: white male, mid-60s, medium build, dirty undershirt, no teeth.

Shotgun.

And it goes off.

She’s reaching for her taser, she’s sure everyone in the precinct is reaching for some kind of weapon, but the gun Sam has been waving around is old, is ancient even, and it fires just from air force alone.

And the bullet goes straight for her.

And before she can even really register what is happening, someone is pushing her down, down to the ground, and covering her god damn body with his own.

Wallace?

She has her wide open eyes on the perp, but in the third second, since it all started, she chances a glance, and sees that it’s God Damn _Logan_ who’s pushed her down.

And she goes absolutely, batshit, _furious_.

“ _Get, off of me!_ ” she screams through her teeth, throwing him off and rolling on to her side so she can spring to her feet.

The perp is already down on the ground. She’ll find out later that his gun went off again after he’d dropped it, and he’d shot himself in the gut. He’ll be pooping into a bag for the rest of his life, but in the meantime, he’s bleeding all over the god damn floor.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” Veronica shouts, and it has been exactly six seconds since the door had opened behind them.

“And get him the hell out of here!” she shouts again, this time at Wallace, who dutifully grabs Logan by the arm and starts dragging him somewhere else.

It’s one of the more exciting days of her career, in retrospect, because words like ‘excitement’ don’t always mean good things. There was a day she’d found a twenty dollar bill in her flak jacket, that was cool. Another one, twelve birds shat on her partner all at once. Haldeman had asked to be reassigned immediately after, but. Probably because she laughed so much.

Veronica is rubbing her forehead back at her desk a few hours later. She knows she should start the report, while it’s fresh, but she just wants a few minutes to herself first.

“You okay?”

She looks up and finds Logan above her, holding a cup of that terrible coffee.

Veronica sighs and leans back in her chair, gesturing for Logan to sit. He does, holding a cup of his own.

“Please don’t tell me that happens every day,” he says, trying for a joke. “Or else I’ll have to consider donating to The Policeman’s Ball, or whatever.” She frowns at him.

“No, of course it doesn’t happen every day,” she snaps. “And we definitely don’t have a Policeman’s Ball.” She thinks. She’s pretty sure. God she should check.

Her dad came by her desk a bit ago to ensure she was okay too. Don’t they understand she is a _police officer?_ She can handle this kind of stuff. She _did_ handle this kind of stuff. No one was shot (besides the gunman), the video cameras caught everything, and, and, that’s it, really. Another day in the life.

“Well, I’ll just say,” Logan says, and his voice is all smug rich kid again. Well okay. _Kid_ is relative. They’re both a few years from thirty. “As a model citizen, _I_ appreciate the hard work you’re putting in to keeping the community safe.”

She stares at him blankly. “Just three hours ago you said that if the world needed more babysitters, we should start enlisting more teenage girls.”

Logan takes a sip of his coffee. “Did I? Oh yeah. Teenage girls make _snacks_.”

Sixty hours might have been considered fair by an elected judge, but, it goes by surprisingly quickly. Well. Kind of. She’d run out of projects for him by day five and had been loaning him out, mostly to Officer Cook, who kept giving him jobs that involved bending over or moving heavy objects. It would be more of a problem except Wallace found it funny.

“You guys, it’s been real,” Logan announces, hands upraised like he’s giving a damn speech, his jacket held in one of them. “You’re doing god’s work. Mallory? Don’t give up on those Barre classes. You can do it. Float like a butterfly, remember. Sacks? I’m buying you mustache wax. I want to see that thing shine, okay.” He high-fives Haldeman and fist bumps Cho, and then turns to his favorite petty Officer Mars.

“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing through the door.

Veronica hisses through her teeth and stands, and is mildly annoyed when they have to wait for a round of applause before they can leave. Seriously? The guy brings bagels _one time_. One time!

“Admit it, you’ll miss me, won’t you,” Logan coos, when she’s opening the precinct door and walking him to his car. She notices that he’d parked over the white line, and wonders if he’s done it on purpose.

“Yes. What _will_ I do without you.”

“All your own filing, apparently.”

Veronica puts a hand on her hip. “I told you, I’m _training_ the monkey, okay.”

Logan snorts some laughter.

“Seriously though, as far as punishments go, this one will probably be one of the greats.”

She looks down her nose at him.

“Just, keep your shirt on, next time.”

He grins, lascivious, and she barely has to ask his meaning. She turns before he even has time to rally a response, and is already opening the precinct doors when he calls after her.

“Whatever you want, princess! Whatever—”

She’s sure he’s about to finish with _gets you off_ , or something similarly crude, and she just doesn’t feel like dealing with that, somehow.

Two days later she’s out on traffic duty again, watching idiots on their morning commutes, and a familiar yellow Xterra blaring loud music goes flying past her squad car.

And without even checking her speed gun, she flips on her siren and peels out after him.

It just feels already like it’s going to be a good day.


	2. if you think you can do better i'd like to see you try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay I know. Ali? You wrote a _cop story?_ Read the room. And yeah, I 100% would not have written this story today (this started as a Tumblr prompt four years ago). The past few weeks and months have taught me way too much about how police departments operate and yeah. Honestly? Burn it to the ground. Black lives matter.

It seems stupid to call it a _thing_ but it would be stupider to call it a _coincidence_ , and all of a sudden Logan Echolls has a pretty decent rap sheet and owes the city of Neptune, California and its surrounding county quite a lot of money in unpaid fines. It means she’s able to pull him over just that much more, for unpaid parking tickets (loading zone), reckless endangerment (she found Dick Casablancas tied to his roof once), and stealing traffic cones.

And really, she shouldn’t be so excited about it.

Okay, excited is probably too much of a word. But maybe she notices way too often now, days she sees him, days she doesn’t, and maybe she’s low-key thinking about him when they start running into each other at the burrito place on Broadway, and it’s fine really. It’s nothing _exciting_ , that he also seems to be on first-name terms with Nicole, the owner, who also seems to know his order by heart and also gives him extra guac. She’d kind of thought that was her and Nicole’s special thing but whatever. See if she ever goes dancing with her again.

And she’s thinking exactly that, when she’s waiting on her burrito, the one she’s going to reward herself with after running the boardwalk with Jackie all morning, and Logan comes bounding in to grab a take-out order in seemingly nothing but his wetsuit. Or half his wetsuit, really, because he’s got the sleeves tied around his midriff to hold the darn thing up, so it’s really just basically half-on, half-off.

He’s shirtless, is what she’s saying. He’s shirtless and his wet hair and his tan chest are covered in drops of briny sea water.

And, he doesn’t even really see her, which is fine, because she is all blotchy and sweaty from all the, you know, _running many miles_ thing, and he gives Nicole a fist bump before he leaves, barefoot even.

It’s not – it’s not a _thing_ , really, because – because she’s not going to be in Neptune forever, probably, and she’s not really there to make friends and certainly _boyfriend_ _or someone in a boyfriendy type sphere_ is like, super, 100 percent bottom of the list of priorities, but…okay…he’s…he’s cute.

Ugh. There. Fine. She’s said it.

To herself.

Not to Nicole, who isn’t particularly subtle about it.

“He’s cute, huh?”

“What?”

“Logan. Cute, right?”

Veronica scoffs. “Cute.” She can feel the warmth right beneath her hairline. “He’s - he’s a terrible driver, I know that much. I mean, I caught him rolling a stop sign outside of a _school_ the other day. At _pick-up time_.”

Nicole’s eyes go momentarily round in a way that shows she’s not particularly impressed. “And did anyone _die?_ ”

“Well. No. But how about the time I caught him tossing empty beer cans into the mayor’s water feature.”

”Oh well that, that should definitely be a felony.”

“Yeah. And it’s like, okay, I swear he’s just _trying_ to get a sunburn in the shape of his seatbelt.”

“His – wait what?”

Veronica’s frowning. “It’s like – he’s never wearing a shirt when I pull him over. What _is_ that?”

Nicole’s eyes are now staying wide. “You’re kidding, right.”

“No, and I swear, I’m becoming the _indecent exposure_ person at work, it’s sort of pissing me off – “

“Veronica.”

“Whatever. It’s his fault. Nicole I gotta go thanks for the burrito.”

She grabs it before the conversation can devolve further, and heads out to the sidewalk. She’s glad he’s not there, really. Honestly, she’s glad she missed him, because it doesn’t matter, and, because, Nicole is wrong. She’s just wrong, okay?

Right?

Veronica looks down the block, towards the beach. A familiar car is just making a turn off the main road, and Veronica tilts her head, considering whether to follow. She’s hot, and she definitely needs a shower, but, she’s got time, and, honestly? She could use the distraction.

Veronica and her dad are reviewing a case in his office a few days later. She’s mildly distracted because she’s pretty sure Logan knows where she lives now, because she gave him a ticket for pulling an illegal u-turn on her way to freaking work this morning. And he’d had a (hot) cup of coffee waiting for her. 

She didn’t drink it, of course. She poured the toffee hazelnut latte all over the freaking ground, okay, because she is a professional.

But, she’s been...craving a toffee hazelnut latte ever since.

“So, that’s what I’m thinking,” her dad sighs, and Veronica has to pretend she heard every word of it.

“Yeah absolutely,” she adds, with gusto, and her dad’s face is flat.

“You didn’t hear a word I said did you.”

“What! Of course I heard...okay I didn’t have my coffee this morning.”

He leans back in his chair. 

“What’s up kiddo.”

She hates/loves it when he calls her kiddo in the office. He’s considerate, so he only ever does it in private, but.

“I’m okay. Just got this, thing, going on. It’s bugging me.”

He rubs his chin. “Yeah, what’s this I hear about all the indecent exposure busts?”

Her neck flames. “Nothing!” she squeaks, before calming down. “It’s, it’s nothing. Don’t even worry about it.”

He looks at her for one very long second and Veronica feels her palms get moist.

“Okay,” he says, tight. “Well, look at this with me. It really honest to god looks like increased drug activity, but, I have no idea what the source is. And the strain of fentanyl they’re using, it’s good shit kid.” She loves/hates it when he swears in front of her. “We thought we got all of it already but some of it is back in the streets. I’ve got two dead teenagers in the last month and I need something to tell their mothers besides, we’re trying.”

She makes a _hmm_ noise, disconcerted. They’ve been talking about other things lately, other cases; this one is new to her. She looks up from the file. 

“So? What’s next?”

Her dad scratches his cheek.

“I think the rich kids are getting it first. I think that we start there, maybe go to some of their parties and ask the right questions.”

She gets an instant sense of foreboding.

“Weevil checked in; says there’s some big 09er party happening this weekend. I think we should send someone in undercover.”

He looks at her, and picks up his coffee mug.

“I think that person should be you.”

Veronica – it takes everything in her not to jump to her feet. She refuses to drop her dad’s stare.

“This would be because I’m the best, right,” she deadpans. “The best at sleuthing, the best at undercover, the best at tactical missions.” Her dad kind of nods.

“Yeah and you still look like a teenager, so.”

She gives him her most surly expression. Then she realizes it’s sort of proving him right so she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her (very much developed! chest).

“Okay, so, what, I just show up and look slutty? Is that the idea?”

He takes a sip of his coffee. “Well don’t go getting a rap for indecent exposure,” he gives her a hard look, “but you know. Figure it out.”

She’d already figured it out. She figured it out the second he’d said indecent exposure in front of her.

Ugh.

Veronica walks up to the car she knows so well by now, she’s got the license plate and VIN number practically memorized. The window is already down, but when she gets to it, it’s to see Logan Echolls really struggling with his shirt. He didn’t get most of the buttons undone and it’s stuck over his head and arms, and he’s wiggling in this really stupid way that confirms a lot of her suspicions. 

“Seriously Logan?”

“I saw a needy kid!” he says, words muffled by the cloth. Veronica frowns.

“Keep your clothes on or I’ll _fine you_ for soliciting.”

Logan does, after a pause, shrugging the shirt back on in one smooth gesture, and still manages to look dumb when he grins at her.

“Half off on Wednesdays. But kissing is extra.”

Veronica looks away and lets out a hiss through her teeth, reaaaally reconsidering this whole thing. She does a quick count to three.

“I need a favor.”

“Whoa now who’s soliciting who?”

Veronica turns and rests her back on the side of his car, crossing her arms. Logan leans out the window to look at her.

“D’you know anything about a party happening this weekend?” she asks.

“I know of several, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“This would be a big one. With,” she pauses to glance at him. It’s night time, on one of the windy streets near his house. The street lamps offer enough light to see by. “Your friends. People like you.”

“Ah,” he says, propping his head up. “You probably want Gia’s party.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Which is just as well, because I didn’t want to go to that one anyway.”

She toes some dirt. “Well,” she says. “I have some bad news for you.”

Veronica hates this dress.

She hates it. She hates this _wig_. But she’s had both from some sort of something or other in the back of her closet already, and the dress covers up the wire really well. But it’s just...it’s just so _short_. 

Logan whistles when he sees her, totally obnoxious bastard that he is, leaning against that equally obnoxiously yellow car. She ignores him. Veronica knows that he owns other cars. He probably picked this one on purpose.

“Hate the wig, though,” Logan adds, as if she cares.

“Well, good for both of us, that matters very little.” She holds up a bag and opens it. “Now take off your shirt.”

“Whoa, I mean, I was definitely hoping you’d say that, but – wait. Wait, what?”

She pulls out a tangle of wires and a little black box. Why can’t anyone just put things back the way they found them? She’s sure she wound this correctly the last time she used it.

“It’s a wire, Logan. You did know that you were going to have to wear a wire, right.”

He looks at it for a second.

She sighs through her mouth. “Well?”

Frowning, he carefully starts to unbutton his shirt, and Veronica turns away, under the guise of untangling the wires. She wants to scratch at her wig. She wants to pull down the hem of her dress. She looks back just as he gets to the final button, and then she approaches.

Veronica reminds herself that she’s put this little device on plenty of people. She put it on her own body just an hour ago. And she’s seen Logan’s chest an ungodly number of times, by now, so really, this is no big deal. It’s no big deal that Logan’s skin is warm, and smooth. None at all. She tapes the wire all along his abdomen and up to his pec, where she tapes the tiny microphone, close to his collar bone.

She…she wants to look up at him, somehow. She knows if she does they’ll both have to acknowledge how closely they’re standing together, and she’s not sure if she’s ready to do that yet.

How long have they been standing in silence?

Logan tucks the recording box into his back pocket, where it is so slim that it fits seamlessly.

There. Done.

Logan nods. He takes a quick breath. “Very professional, Officer Mars.”

She does, finally, look up at him, her eyes unknowingly reflecting the night sky. “Yes. They covered _taping_ pretty rigorously in cop school. Right after scissors and glue.”

He snorts, and Veronica steps back, and they both climb into his car. Veronica buckles her seatbelt. She doesn’t like how jittery she feels, all of a sudden. Unnerved. _Warm and smooth_.

“Well, can we? I don’t want to be late,” she says, waving at the windshield.

A slow grin spreads across Logan’s face which she interprets as purely condescending. “D’you – hmm. You weren’t much of a partier in high school, were you.”

“Are we still in high school?” she snaps back. “No, I didn’t think so. And I want to go and get this over with.”

He’s still looking at her, still with that teasing gleam in his eye. “Please tell me you already laid out your pajamas for the night.”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. “I will not.”

“Oh man.”

She crosses her arms and pushes back into the seat. “Shut _up_ and drive _please_.”

“Oh man oh man,” he starts chanting as he merges onto the street, and then they’re starting the drive to Gia Goodman’s house, way up in the hills. Logan lives pretty close to Gia, but, the scenario they agreed to – that he _insisted on_ – involves a bit of charade.

Veronica clears her throat. “So, how long have we been dating?” she quizzes.

“Two months, pudding pop,” he answers, with an annoying cooing tone.

“And how did we meet?” She crosses her legs now. She really couldn’t be more _crossed_ if she tried. Oh she hates this.

“You pulled me over for living up to my potential.”

She clenches her jaw. “ _No_ , we met at Java the Hut. I ordered a coffee, you picked it up thinking it was yours, etc.”

He hums some sort of acceptance. They’re stopped at a red light, and Logan looks surprisingly contemplative as he peers out the window. “Okay my turn,” he says. “How many times do we have sex?”

That was – that was _not_ on the brief she’d made. “What?” she coughs, not at all sure she’s heard him right.

“Well,” Logan reasons, “we’ve been dating for two months. Surely we’ve had sex by now. I want to know how handsy to be with you.”

“How about _not at all?_ ” she squeaks, and she hates that the last part she really had to squeeze through her vocal chords. Forcing her shoulders to relax lets her tone return to normal decibels. “How about we remember that I am a _cop_ , that I carry a _gun_ , and that every word you say is being recorded right now.” She taps on her own hidden microphone for emphasis.

Logan grins, fiendishly, and Veronica can just picture half her precinct listening in to this very recording.

Logan flashes his fingers wide and mouths: _ten times a week_.

Her cheeks are on fire. The light changes, and Logan grins instead at the road as he gets on the freeway. Ten times, a _week?_ Be serious. No one has time for…that’s like, more than once a day, multiple days in the course of seven. That’s ridiculous. People don’t just – they don’t just _do that_ , that would be – oh my gosh. She swallows hard, and knows she’s been silent for too long. She checks her stupid tiny purse for her travel taser, cell phone, and wallet, itemizing things quickly and then quickly again while her heartrate returns to normal. And when she chances a glance at Logan, he’s staring out the windshield, navigating traffic like a perfectly safe and competent driver, and he’s humming a little to himself.

Gia Goodman has a very large house.

It has a lot of people in it, sure, definitely not a small affair, and there are bouncers at the gates checking everyone’s IDs and cross matching it with a guest list. There is a long line of cars.

“How do you and Gia know each other,” Veronica says, voice low. Logan pulls his car around the big long line, and drives right through the gates, shrugging a shoulder.

“High school. We go pretty far back.”

Veronica tries not to let her eyes stay wide as Logan parks his car and they get out. Music is already blaring from inside as Logan gives one of the security guards a little salute (god that stupid salute and damn him for it working on everybody), and then he just –

He just wraps an arm around her waist.

Veronica nearly jumps out of her skin and instinctually reaches for her taser.

“Whooa there,” he murmurs, pulling her tight again. “Two whole months, remember?”

She does, remember that is, but it does nothing to quell her racing heart.

 _Eyes open, Mars_ , she reminds herself. _This is work, this is work, this is work._ She forces her shoulders to relax again, and leans into Logan a little.

God she wishes she was better at following her own advice.

He turns just before they get close to the doors, leans and murmurs right into her terrible wig:

“You look great, by the way.”

Seeing Logan in his _natural habitat_ is unnerving.

He’s friends with _everyone_ , as this mild-mannered, jovial sort of human, who introduces her to every single person they meet. This is Veronica, this is my girlfriend, he keeps saying, while they walk around. When he doesn’t have an arm around her waist he’s holding her hand, and that’s all well and good, but she’s not sure the little circles he thumbs on the back of her palm or the side of her hip are truly necessary. She remembers to smile at him, remembers to speak sweetly when he offers to get her something to drink.

“Not too strong,” she warns, fond, like there’s some sort of private joke between them and the joke is something besides: _roofie me and die_. Logan grins and winks.

“Hey Ronnie.”

Veronica really does jump then. She jumps and turns, on the white leather couch, and finds Dick Casablancas perched on the back of it, not at all furtively looking around.

“Dick,” she hisses. “Logan said you weren’t going to be here tonight.” She hopes no one can overhear them.

“Yeah I wasn’t but then I thought,” he sucks his lower lip into his mouth and peers around the crowd. “Thought you might need back-up for whatever super-secret spy mission you have going on, so.”

“I do not—“ she starts to say, anxious, but then she thinks better of it. Ugh. “Actually Dick, you know what? I do need help. There’s a, a super-secret…spy..thing, going on, in the backyard, later. In maybe an hour? Maybe two. But you’ll have to secure the perimeter first.” She looks him dead in the eye. “Can you do that.”

He flips hair out of his eyes and looks around some more. “You know it,” he says, and leaves.

Logan chooses that moment to return with her drink.

“ _Dick_ , is here,” she whispers through her teeth, as Logan gets comfortable next to her. He’s wearing a sports coat and button down shirt, no tie. It looks…um, professional. Clean. Yes, clean, and, freshly-laundered.

“Really?” Logan says, craning his neck. “I didn’t see him.”

“I sent him to the backyard to spy.”

“Oh, Dick is a really shit spy.”

“ _Dick_ has been found passed out and pantsless in the Neptune Mall fountain, _twice_. I know he’s a terrible spy.”

Logan tries really hard not to laugh as hard as he clearly wants to. “I will,” he tries to say. “I will pay you so much money to tell me those stories.”

She lifts her chin a little. “No deal. Those pictures are _evidence to a crime_ , alright?”

“There are _pictures oh my god_ ,” Logan says, leaning back and closing his eyes, and he really does laugh out loud.

“ _Logey!_ ” someone calls out, far too loud, and Veronica and Logan automatically get to their feet. A tall, leggy brunette is walking straight for them, arms out for Logan alone. She clasps him briefly in a little hug.

“Hey Gia,” he answers, giving her a kiss on her offered cheek. “Great party, as usual.”

She barely seems to hear him. “Hey what’s this I keep hearing about you having trouble with the law,” she pouts, putting a hand on his chest. Veronica notices the way his arm is still around Gia’s waist, his other hand holding his drink. He grins at the host, pure affection.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She grins back and pokes his nose. “You little rascal. Troy tells me you didn’t even come alone. Where is she, this one who has apparently stolen your heart?”

Logan finally remembers her, or something, because he lets go of Gia and turns to Veronica, holding out his hand. She doesn’t take it, and he makes it look like he was just presenting her, as he puts it on her lower back instead.

“This is Veronica. Veronica, this is Gia.”

“Oo, Veronica,” Gia says, shuffling her shoulders as she looks at her. “I love your look. And that hair! Oh we could be sisters.”

She does, frustratingly, appear to have a similar hairstyle. That’s a bummer she didn’t expect.

“Logey,” Gia continues, turning back to Logan, seemingly ignoring Veronica entirely. “We ran out of ice. Can you believe it? At my own birthday.” She’s back to pouting, sticking out her lower lip in this really obnoxious way, that for some reason makes Veronica want to smack her. “More’s getting delivered in half an hour. Do you think you could meet him out back? He said he’d come in the usual way.”

Logan grins at her still; warm, fond, familiar. “Anything for the birthday girl,” he responds, and she pats his cheek.

“Vanessa, it was so good to meet you,” Gia croons, grabbing Veronica by the shoulder and kissing her on both cheeks. “We really do need to get together sometime soon. What about on my yacht? Next weekend? Logey, call me, I need to know all about your new friend.”

She walks away, and Veronica observes Logan’s features begin to tighten in small increments. When she’s safely out of earshot, Veronica sits down and brings her drink to her lips. “ _Logey?_ ” she questions, and Logan looks at her after he takes the next cushion, clearly a little annoyed.

“Well, at least we have half an hour left,” he says, and Veronica is mildly confused.

“What, before we intercept the ice delivery? Come on. I’m doing real work here.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. There are clearly a few different retorts on his lips, but he chooses none of them. “Ice is a code word,” he says, and Veronica feels the sting of embarrassment, because, of course it is.

“I know that,” she mutters, quiet.

Right. This is why she’s here. Drugs. Drug deliveries, here, to this house. Undercover. Easy. Not hard. She can do this. She’s got Dick Casablancas for back-up.

“Don’t worry about it,” he’s telling her, and again he’s rubbing those little circles on her shoulder. “It’s just a guy dropping off drugs to a bunch of rich kids, remember? No big deal.”

“I know that,” she snaps, pulling away. “I’m the professional, remember?”

“Yeah well, six months paid training and I guess I’d be a professional too.” He pulls his hand away and uses it to prop his head on the back of the couch. “How come they don’t make you guys get degrees?”

“I have a degree,” she says, trying to determine whether Logan put alcohol in her drink based on its color alone. “Criminal justice with a minor in legal studies.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you have a law degree and that you’re using it to, what, to give out speeding tickets?”

She hazards a sip of the drink. No alcohol, she’s pretty sure, but she wouldn’t put it past him to spike it with… _something_ … She squints at nothing. No, she kind of knows he wouldn’t do that.

Veronica shrugs. “I didn’t go to grad school Logan. Dad needed help, there was this one situation thing, I just kind of went for it.”

“I thought – huh.”

“You thought what?” She tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t know you _thought_ at all.”

He rolls his eyes a little. “The, Mars thing. Your dad’s chief of police.”

She takes another sip of the drink. Definitely not spiked. She likes the pineapple flavor. “So what if he is?”

Logan grins. “I’m dating the police chief’s daughter,” he drawls, and he looks rather pleased with himself, despite the fact that it’s all, you know, _fake_.

“For two whole months what will it do to your head,” she deadpans, looking out at the party. Half an hour. She wishes she was wearing a watch. She suddenly remembers the wire.

“Hey I’m going to, take a walk?” she says, putting down the drink. “Maybe we should, go get some fresh air.”

Logan nods, and stands, offering a hand to help her up which, she takes, mostly because she needs the other hand to hold down the hem of her skirt.

She reviews her own mission as they walk to the backyard: ID the suspect, witness the exchange, determine the product. Bonus points for the source. Cupcakes if she can get a photo, somehow, but she and her dad will settle for the rest. She could arrest nearly everyone involved just for participating in _illegal drug trafficking_ , intent to sell, whatever, and, hopefully, that will come later.

It’s not until she’s looking around, wondering if it should be called a _backyard_ or a _public park_ , when she realizes she’s still holding Logan’s hand. Her fingers tense, and she takes a moment, trying to decide whether to drop it. Well. They _are_ supposed to be dating, after all. Logan had insisted it was the only justification for getting her in the door and having her close to him all night. Surely, just, you know, a regular old friend could do that too, but, whatever, she just wants to make it back to her jammies tonight.

Logan waves at some other people he knows, but doesn’t engage. They make a grand sweep of the yard, hand in hand, letting Veronica identify the exits, all the tactical points, should something go bad. They spot Dick a few times, peeping from behind bushes. It’s better to pretend they can’t see him.

Gia’s house is on a gently sloping hill, the grass beyond the manicured perimeter dry and golden, now silver in the moonlight. They slow as they reach it, and Veronica takes a moment to stare out at the view. They’re quiet for a moment. “So,” she starts, and Logan half-turns to her. “I have…a question.”

It’s been on her mind for the last fifteen minutes, and she’s not always great at letting things go. What was it? It was...something about him being so determined to hold her hand. Something about the pineapple drink, and the toffee hazelnut latte; something about – Okay. She’s got several questions, in fact, but she can settle on one.

Because, it’s weird, seeing Logan like this. Seeing him have so many friends. Having him be so god damn _nice_ to her.

Veronica has friends too, of course, but not – not like this. Logan’s annoying ability for insight aside, she _hadn’t_ been popular in high school, had really been far more focused on good grades and hanging out with her dad and all that. Her first car had cost $500 at a police auction and came with a busted transmission, which she’d fixed herself using the internet. Rich, popular boys at her high school? They didn’t waste their time on Veronica Mars. She never went to parties like this.

Logan turns more fully to look at her.

“How come,” she starts again, worrying her lower lip. She’s not even looking at him. “How come, after, that thing happened, at the precinct, with, you know – “

“Yosemite Sam?”

“Exactly, yes.” She bites the inside of her cheek now. “How come, you never – what I’m saying is – well. That was some pretty heavy leverage for a date, right? You seriously could have asked me out and I probably wouldn’t have been able to say no.”

There is just…a ridiculous amount of delight, growing in his eyes. It’s so silly. It’s so unnecessary.

Logan licks his lips and looks at hers. “That is, a very good question Officer Mars.” He looks into her eyes for what feels like a damn long time, is really only about four full seconds. “But I like my wins the old fashioned way, apparently. You saying yes out of obligation just because I saved your life doesn’t really have the same feel to it...you know?”

She presses her lips together and looks away. She wants to say that she saves lives on the regular, okay, and that there really is no definitive evidence that the bullet would’ve hit her somewhere vital. Okay, well, it definitely _was_ going to hit her, based on trajectory and where they found the bullet hole, but, you know, it could’ve hit her appendix. Something mysterious and not fully understood and probably useless in the end, when you think about it.

Anyway.

“Well this doesn’t count,” she says, more forcefully than she intended. She opens her purse and checks her phone.

“Wait, d’you – are you trying to say that there is something that _would_ count?”

Veronica closes her purse.

“It’s time to go.”

“Wait, hold on, I need some clarification here.”

Veronica starts walking back toward the party.

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

She doesn’t turn back. Logan screams through his teeth a little, she feels the ground shake a bit as he hops in place, and then he jogs a little to catch up with her. If he could see her face she’d roll her eyes, but since he can’t…she allows for a small, tiny, helpless smile.

  
  


Veronica is having a hard time keeping a line of sight on the door.

“You know _too many people_ ,” she complains at a whisper, when they’re hovering near the meeting spot and Logan has just said good bye to _another_ acquaintance, who’d wanted to know all about his new car or something. She wasn’t paying attention. She was watching the door, watching the crowd, watching Dick crab walk between foliage.

“What can I say? I’m a likeable guy. Something you would know if you’d let me take you out on a proper date.”

She wants to cover the microphone in her bra but knows it would do no good in the end. “Oh goodness we’re back on this again. I _am_ on the clock I’ll remind you.” She could just ignore him. Why isn’t she just ignoring him?

“Well I can’t help that people want to talk to me. Unless – “

“Unless?”

Logan isn’t answering her, so she turns to look at him. He’s standing very close, all of a sudden, and Veronica nearly leaps back. She often forgets how much taller he is, or how short she is, one of the two. She just forgets. And looking up at him, at his dark, glittering eyes, she remembers.

“Well if I looked busy, with, _my girlfriend_ ,” he starts to say, and Veronica feels herself leaning back with a frown. She doesn’t like where this is going. “I bet no one would bother us. And we’ve got another,” he checks his watch, “four minutes, so.”

Her heart is beating awfully fast. “That’s all it takes you? Four minutes?”

He smirks. “Yeah, like I told you, need for speed baby. _Need_ , for, _speed_.” She’s staring at his lips. She has a feeling he’s messing with her, but any retort would lead to further conversations on this topic, and it’s just –

His hand slips against her waist. She really can’t help the way she jolts and looks at him sharply. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, sliding his other hand against her other side. “I know what we’re doing. But you want the area quiet, and, I know from experience, this will always clear the room.”

“You know _from experience?_ ” she whispers, and is furious to realize her voice is hoarse.

Logan’s head dips, and his nose, touches the outside of her ear.

What is it? Why is she –

There’s a moment, just for a second, where her world shifts a little. And it happens, oh so fast. One second she’s Officer Veronica Mars, 27-years-old, living in a crappy apartment six minutes away from her dad, who hasn’t had a boyfriend in over three years.

The next second she’s not any of those things.

The third second she’s just, she’s just Veronica, and she’s being touched by a very handsome, tall, nice-smelling man in a god damn tailored suit, who would probably make her laugh if he ever encountered her in a situation where it would be appropriate for her to laugh.

And that…it’s different. It’s different, the way warmth blooms right through her during the fourth second, and the fifth, as his nose drags along the shell of her ear, and then his breath is warm against the side of her neck.

What does he smell like, even? It’s just – she can’t come up with the words. He just smells…nice. Not bad, even. Not even a little bit.

The seventh second she slides her arm over his shoulder, and Logan lets out a little noise from the back of his throat.

Heat swells within her at second number eight.

Their breaths are mingling; Logan’s mostly in her hair, hers mostly against his shirt, but, when they’re so close, all turned together like this, their breaths invariably mix. It’s been all of ten seconds and they’re turning towards each other, their faces angling closer somehow, like someone is turning two different shaped pieces together, and they’re suddenly lining up in all the right ways.

It has been all of eleven seconds since she was Officer Veronica Mars, and now, she’s sure, if he leaned toward her even a little, she might kiss him.

“Oh, shit,” Logan is saying, and Veronica barely hears him.

Logan pulls back then, and Veronica has to blink against the sudden barrage of cold.

 _Oh my god, you sex crazed_ lunatic _._

She’s talking about _herself._ Veronica bites her lip and glowers up at Logan, but he’s not even looking at her. He’s looking over her head, past her shoulder, and he’s 100% distracted by something. What? They have three minutes and forty-seven seconds left. What’s the big deal?

She turns to look over her shoulder, and her eyes go wide.

“Oh, shit,” she echoes, and maybe twenty feet away, coming through the side gate by the garage, coming through _the usual way_ – is Detective Mercer Hayes.

And there’s a moment where they’re staring at each other, and it’s clear neither is sure why the other is there. _Are you_ – she wants to ask. Is he _in on this?_ Is he there as a guest? Oh wait. _Oh. Shit._

Mercer Hayes is delivering drugs, to this party.

“Oh _shit_ ,” she basically shouts, because Mercer’s shoulders just hunch as he turns on his heel, and Veronica throws Logan out of the way as she breaks into a sprint behind Mercer.

He’s got a head start and his legs are longer, not to mention she’s wearing _heels_ and Mercer has apparently _been here before_ , but she’s been training, hard, most days, just for stupid events like this. ~~~~

This is not her first tactical op, not even her first tactical op in heels, so she kicks them off mid-stride and breaks through the side door without slowing down. There’s a car idling just a few hundred feet away, but she can’t see if anyone else is in it. All she sees is Mercer’s stupid back, and the stupid way he runs. Doesn’t he ever _use the gym?_ She runs for _fun_ , okay? For god damn fun.

Veronica bares her teeth and _screams_ as she lunges, aiming right for his stupid, stupid shoulders. She hits him, and they go tumbling, Mercer eating asphalt probably way too hard. His arm sweeps out as he tries to push her off of him, but it’s basically the first move anyone ever tries, so it’s really, _really_ way too easy to grab that arm and _twist_ it very forcefully behind his back.

“Ah!” Mercer shouts, maybe from pain, maybe from just being an asshole. He’s not yet realized that he can use his hips to try and buck her off, so she grabs his other arm and shoves that behind his back too, then leans her _entire weight_ onto those arms so he won’t be able to get up.

“Mercer god damn Hayes,” she seethes, breathing hard through clenched teeth. “I am so happy to report that you are under arrest. Now would you like the whole Miranda rights? Or just the abridged version.”

“I wasn’t – “ he tries to throw his shoulder back, but she presses him into the ground, and his face scratches nastily along the gravel. “I wasn’t _doing anything!_ I was just here as a guest, alright! A guest!”

She reaches for his pants pocket, having to straddle his stupid back so as not to lose her grip, and pulls out a little bag of white powder. “Ha!” she shouts, triumphant. “You brought gifts! How thoughtful of you.”

Mercer seethes, and Veronica looks up, grinning wildly, and finds Logan just a few steps away.

“Logan! Please if you wouldn’t mind calling 9-1-1? We’re going to need a cruiser, and, probably a good pair of handcuffs? I left mine at home.”

The look of shock (mildly terrified shock? Maybe just regular shock) wears off, and the corner of Logan’s mouth inches up. “You got it,” he says, and he’s full-on grinning by the time he pulls out his phone and punches in the number. She realizes momentarily that her dress is completely hiked up around her waist and he can see her seamless boy shorts.

Well. It takes half a thought to realize she doesn’t really care. She’s going to make it home to her jammies tonight. She might even have a cup of hot cocoa to celebrate.

A few squad cars show up, but it’s nothing too major. No one’s really interested in busting up the party even though that happens anyway. Gia is furious but Logan calms her down somehow, and Veronica doesn’t see him much as she makes her preliminary statements to her dad (who frowns a lot at her dress and wig) and helps get Mercer all bundled up for his trip to a holding cell.

He’s been stealing from their lock-up for years, she’ll find out. In a few hours he’s going to broker one hell of a plea deal to give up his sources, his network, all of it, in exchange for a modified sentence. He’ll never get as much prison as he deserves just for being gross and skeezy, but, he’ll also never work in law enforcement again, so. You pick your battles.

“You want a ride home kid?” her dad asks, and she doesn’t even admonish him for saying it in public, because it’s been a long night. Veronica looks around, spies Logan leaning against his car, clearly waiting for her, and makes…what is likely, the dumbest decision of her life, probably.

“Nah, it’s okay,” she says. Her dad sees where she’s looking and tries very hard to keep his poker face on. “Is it okay if I type up my report in the morning? I…left something in his car.”

Her dad shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fine. Based on the inventory notes you found and tailing him to the dealer’s house off Broadway a few weeks ago, I think our case is pretty solid. Take the night off.”

Veronica sticks her tongue out at him, but turns towards Logan and starts the very visible, very long walk. She’s got her heels in one hand and the wig in the other, and it’s easy enough to pretend to ignore the fact that he’s staring at her. She’s got more pressing concerns than what he might be thinking. Her hair is all slicked back and yucky, and she’s pretty desperate for a shower, honestly.

“You okay?” Logan asks first, because, he’s probably actually a gentleman or something.

Veronica sighs and lets her shoulders drop. She’s tired. She feels good, but, she’s tired, and she nods as she walks all the way around the car and gets in on the passenger’s side.

Logan opens his driver’s side door but doesn’t seem to be moving too fast. He climbs in only after she’s secured her own seatbelt and has fallen back into her seat.

“Your dad didn’t want to drive you home?” he seems, all too hesitant to ask, and Veronica smiles, because, it confirms a lot of her suspicions.

“Come on, Logan,” she hums.

“Let’s take the long way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically live for comments and kudos, but, I will forgive you from doing either if you want to google Earl Sampson <3


	3. burn it down and start again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey guess what you don't need this chapter. but today for trope-a-palooza my fav PW-FREAKING-P is up and i am a glutton for arbitrary points systems.
> 
> Also YES I AM VERY INTO THIS ARTWORK
> 
>   
> by [@veronicamarsfanart](https://veronicamarsfanart.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr  
>   
> 

Veronica is dozing, half-lost in thoughts by the time Logan pulls up to her apartment building.

“Hey,” he says, in this quiet way, the clicking of the cooling engine the only sound in the close confines of the car. Veronica turns to face him, her head still against the headrest.

“Long night,” she acknowledges, and she can see Logan swallow. “Long drive,” she concedes, as her weird form of thanks. He’d driven for, geez, almost an hour down the coast, and it’s well into the _wee hours of the morning_ now. Hmm. Veronica takes a deep breath through her nose and leans out of the car seat.

“Well?”

She opens the door and puts a foot on the ground. When she doesn’t hear any more noise that would indicate a pursuit, she turns to look at him. He’s staring at her, keys in one hand, and it’s clear he doesn’t catch her meaning. Veronica nearly rolls her eyes.

“Logan Echolls, you dummy,” she says, and she doesn’t even close the door as she walks to her building and starts hunting for her key. She can hear the sounds Logan is making as he _gets it jeez_ , hopping out of the car, closing their doors, the sounds of his feet on the pavement as he catches up to her. She’s smiling a little when she gets through the gate, walking around the centralized pool to the stairs on the other side.

Logan is two steps behind.

Should she feel self-conscious about her apartment? Maybe. It’s not anything specifically fancy. It has a bedroom, it was available immediately, and it came partially furnished. Partially furnished as in, she didn’t have to lug a couch up the two flights of stairs. She’s thinking about the hem of her dress as she walks up the stairs now.

Logan is hovering when she slips her key into the lock, opening up the door an inch to reveal the dark interior. She pauses for a second, hand still on the key, just relishing the feeling of his presence near her back. They haven’t spoken since the car, and, it feels…

She walks inside and flips on the lights. Sparse and basic, considering the few months she’s lived there, and the lurid green couch she’d steam cleaned into oblivion. Logan is trying to look at everything.

“That is…a green couch.”

His first words, she wants to tease.

“I noticed.”

“You have a green couch.”

“I have a lot of furniture.”

“You have – yes.”

“I’m going to take a shower.”

He barely inhales. “Okay.”

She looks at him for a moment. They’re just sort of standing in her living room, looking at each other.

“Okay,” she parrots, and she drops her wig and purse on the noted couch. She turns and walks to the bathroom, reaching for the zipper of her dress as she walks. Maybe she’s walking a bit slower than usual? Maybe not, as she manages to tug it down her spine, splitting the dress open as she starts to disappear.

She doesn’t even have it in her to feel smug though. Her blood is thrumming, warm in her veins. She’s too eager, or something, too…invested. Her dress is falling over her shoulders as she leans down to start the flow of water. This builder’s special shower/tub combo has one of those awful sliding doors of modesty glass that she spends an annoying amount of time trying to keep clean. The water gets to the right temperature, and she shucks the rest of her clothing, letting it fall into a messy heap on the bathroom floor. It’s been a long night. She rubs her neck muscles, her pulse still heavy, and she’s definitely loitering on her bathmat until she can hear _some_ amount of movement from the living room, before stepping in.

And she counts the seconds maybe, definitely, until she sees the shadow of him through the glass, filling up the open bathroom door.

The lights are all on in her apartment; in the hall, in the bathroom. It’s not hard at all to identify him, leaning against the frame, one heel crossed over the other. She lets all that beautiful hot water flow right through her hair, right over all her sore muscles, letting him watch her blurred skin.

“You left the door open,” he says, and Veronica feels the small, unbearable smile.

“We’re stating the obvious tonight. My name is Veronica. My middle name? Lianne.” She slides the glass door open a bit and looks at him. “I have a green couch.”

“You have a green couch,” he agrees, and for a moment they just look at each other. It’s a little surreal that they even got to this point.

Veronica goes back under the water, leaving the shower door open. It’s letting in all kinds of cold air but, you know. She’s thinking she’s not being very subtle.

“So, here’s the thing,” Logan starts, and Veronica runs her head under the shower again. Are her legs shaved? More or less. “I’m getting the impression you’d like someone to scrub your back.”

She ducks again for where she can see him. “My dirty, dirty back,” she says, somewhat jokingly, but the look on his face is – he almost looks – damn, he almost looks serious, or something. He points a little with one finger.

“I am an excellent back scrubber, I’ll have you know.” He grabs the top of the doorframe with both hands and cycles a breath through his nose and mouth. “But, forgive the metaphor, but it almost seems like we’re going from zero to sixty here.”

She snorts a little. “Didn’t think you had a problem with that.” It seems like he was setting her up to say it, so it’s maybe not as funny as it could’ve been. There’s too much static in the air. Too much of something or other, stretching between them. She moves back under the water, hoping some of it will ease.

“No,” Logan continues, with another inhale. “I usually like to go the speed limit, with girls I like.”

She tries not to let that get to her, that phrase, but it does. It spreads under skin, spreads far and wide and warm. _Girls I like._

“Logan Echolls,” she starts to say, cautious. “Are you trying to tell me you’re feeling _modest?_ ”

She leans her head back where he can see it, and finds him holding his hands over where his nipples would be, through his shirt. Another thought occurs to her.

“Please tell me you have nothing to be modest _about_.”

Logan chuckles a bit, but it comes out too quiet. He drops his hands and doesn’t seem to know what to do with them. “No, nothing like that.” He takes a moment to really study her, and Veronica feels the hot water falling against her skin, dripping down her wet hair. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Just, who’s to say you’ll call after?”

She looks down her nose at him a little. “I guess that depends on a few things.”

His voice gets, impossibly, quieter. “Oh yeah?”

“Well yeah,” she says, as if that’s completely natural. “I mean, you say you’re an excellent _back scrubber_ , but you know. I haven’t had my _back scrubbed_ in three years – “ she completely ignores the way he springs apart at that information, “—and who’s to say I even _like_ it anymore.”

“Three years,” he repeats. “You haven’t – three _years?_ ”

She looks at him, through the open door, the sound of the shower filling the room, with the steam. Her gaze is soft and honest and steadfast. She turns away and shrugs. “That’s what I said. If I was embarrassed about it I don’t think I’d be leaving this damn shower door open, Logan.”

“Right. Yeah.” She sees him stand up straighter. “That makes sense.”

He can’t see her face anymore so she rolls her eyes. Her heart is still beating too fast. Too hard. Her skin is humming now, just really, achingly desperate to be touched. Is she being subtle? Maybe she’s being subtle. She sighs too fast, and reaches for the soap.

“You can imagine I’m not a girl who’s interested in indecision, Logan. You say you want to take it slow, that’s fine. But I’m more interested in _fast_ and _hard_ tonight, if that’s okay with you. And if you’re _not_ interested then you probably want to get out before I find someone who is.” She doesn’t mention that the chances of it being a some _one_ and not a some _thing_ are incredibly low. It’s late. Her skin is humming. She wants him to come into the shower. She’s wanted him to come in ever since he touched the shell of her ear at the party a few hours ago, ever since he’d stroked his hand over the small of her back and brought her a virgin pineapple cocktail. Ever since she’d seen his shirtless chest glittering with salt water in Nicole’s restaurant, golden from the sun. She’s wanted all of it. She’s wanted it for longer than she’d care to admit.

He’s silent. He’s silent for a long time, immobile, the hazy version she sees of him through the bubbled glass of the shower door.

Veronica can feel her heart beating. She feels it thudding against her ribcage, as she glares helplessly at the tiled shower wall. She takes a quick breath, and steps fully into view of Logan Echolls. All her completely naked self, somewhat shaved, decently clean, and tries to be as brave as she can.

“Well?”

Logan is staring at her more intently than she’s ever felt from him before. The fact that he won’t take his eyes away from hers is making her mildly nervous. She works out, okay? She’s got boobs. She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine.

“Sixty it is then,” he murmurs, and Veronica’s knees relax just as the rest of her does.

_Oh thank god._

She would step back under the water if she could convince herself to move, but, she just really can’t, apparently, as she watches with slightly lowered eyes as Logan starts pulling off his clothes. She takes a deep, calming breath through her mouth. _Okay_. Okay. Okay. This is what she wants. His jacket is off. His shirt is off. He folds them and puts them on the closed toilet seat. He reaches for his belt buckle and Veronica steps back into the full stream of water, hoping its relentless pressure will ease some of her crazy jumbled nerves.

Sex. Sex, she’s going to have sex. Does Logan have a condom? She still has her IUD; maybe she’s getting ahead of herself. There’s plenty they could do just in a shower. Ugh shower sex is the worst. Okay, overthinking things. Overthinking, overthinking, over –

Logan steps into the shower behind her.

Her lungs seize up a little with the sudden weight of what she’s about to do. Holy crap, holy crap. They haven’t even _kissed_ yet. Logan’s hands touch her shoulders, and she’s embarrassed to realize she tenses a little. He definitely notices.

“Hey,” he says, voice still so soft. “We really don’t – “

She exhales and turns, staring resolutely at his face. “No, we _really do_.”

He’s frowning a little. “Veronica,” he starts to say, and he sounds _way. too. reasonable._

She leans up on her toes and kisses him.

It doesn’t go as smoothly as it seems like it will in the movies. She doesn’t get his lips just completely right the first try, because he’s so tall and it’s been a long time since she’s kissed anyone at all; she has to adjust a little to get a full press. And it’s a little, cold? At first? This kiss? He’s just still so hesitant, for a man naked in her shower. Polite, even. Damn him.

Veronica winds her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. She’s braver with her eyes closed, and, she presses herself completely against him, nudity and all.

For a second they’re suspended like that: Veronica insisting on the kissing, Logan half-committed, seemingly ready to bolt should she wants him to. And then the longer it goes on (it’s one second, two seconds, three), the more he seems to realize that she’s not going to stop, and then it’s four seconds, and five, and then – finally. He wraps his arms around her lower back, and he starts to return the kiss.

Relief skitters down her spine just as heat coils low and languorous in her core, and her mouth opens easily on a sigh. Logan _really_ starts kissing her back then, and, and – she never wants to stop kissing. Kissing is good. Kissing is _good._

Logan runs his hands up and down her back and Veronica allows herself the small pleasure of sliding her fingers into his short hair. He navigates her shoulders, her arms, the back of her head and neck. Everywhere safe, she realizes, when his hands hesitate, again, right above the curve of her ass. She makes an encouraging noise in the back of her throat, then tilts her hips, trying to force his hands lower. The heat between her legs gives a desperate sort of throb. _More._

Logan responds with a guttural little noise of his own, and his hands traipse down her skin. He cups her behind, and it’s just – that tingle, she’d noticed earlier, the odd feeling of electricity running beneath her skin, it warms and fizzles now, waves of it through her legs and arms. _More._

“ _Mmm-mm-mm_ -okay,” says Logan, pulling back, panting more than a little, his hands unmoving. “Okay, okay,” he breaths, eyes wide. She feels half in a stupor, and she breathes in the same air. She wants to kiss some more, and she stares at his lips, intent on her goal. “Okay, Veronica? I need you to be explicit. I need you to tell me what you want to do.”

She blinks. What? Ugh. Why do guys _do that?_ Why do they think that we’ll be brave enough to spell it out for them? Can’t they just – “Everything,” Veronica insists, and it sounds like nearly a whine as she tries to kiss him again. He pulls back.

“Nope, no, I’m going to – ” he groans loudly through his teeth, turning to the side, then closes his eyes briefly. “Veronica, look, this is just not supposed to happen.”

Her heart drops.

“What?”

He seems to realize what it sounded like too, and cringes. “No! I mean, it’s just – okay. _Okay!_ Okay? Okay.” Quick breath. “This is not the first time we’ve had sex.”

“We haven’t – we’re no – wait. What?”

He stares at her lips, which must be swelling by now. They feel tender and used and barren all at once. He licks his own.

“I think I’ve fucked you…a few dozen times, by now.” He looks around the shower. “A few times in the shower, mostly in _my bed_ ,” he says, like he’s admonishing her for not being there right now. “It’s just,” he’s still cupping her ass, and, why does that make her want to smile? “A little…surreal.”

He finally notices that she’s smiling, that she’s, well, mocking him a bit, for fantasizing about her.

She hums, a little, unsure what to say. There is a silly sort of light beginning to glow inside of her. A prideful, gloating, warm sort of glow. It mixes with the tight, electric heat in her core. She wants to climb him like a tree.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I told you,” she says, shrugging a little. “Everything.”

“It’s been three years for you,” he says, closing his eyes. “I literally can _not_ mess this up. Not for my own pride or anything, but um yeah okay definitely for my own pride.”

She’s full on grinning now. That light and heat inside of her, it’s eating her up.

“Tell me,” he begs, opening his eyes again. “Just – say yes or no. Do you want to have sex in here?” he takes one hand off her butt to count on his fingers. Veronica bites her lip, considers the cooling water, and shakes her head. “Do you want me to go down on you?” Her eyes go wide, and she really digs down on her lower lip. _Whoa._ The corners of Logan’s mouth twitch up. “I’ll take that as a yes.

“Do you, want to have sex with me?”

Her toes curl. Heat throbs inside of her. Her hands fist in Logan’s hair and she looks directly into his eyes and swallows, hard. She nods, teeth on lower lip, no smile to be found.

“Thank _god_ ,” Logan swears, and he wraps her up in a kiss again.

Zero to sixty indeed.

He was holding back before, clearly, her overly explicit consent seeming to have broken the leash. Logan hoists her onto the cold tiles as he casts about for the shower handle, smacking shampoo bottles into the tub until he finds it, and all the water turns off at once. It would be cold but Logan is too hot, too warm, and he smothers her with his body and demands all of her attention with his lips, grinding gently and insistently against her. She can _feel him_ against her, and the heat in her core spills over, dumps everywhere inside her torso.

Veronica hooks her leg around his, pulling his body just as she pushes hers forward, and a groan creeps up her throat. _More_. Logan’s hands are moving up her sides now, pushing her harder against the tiles as he kisses her, and kisses her. _More._ The wet skin sticks to his hands, making his going rough, but he seems intent on manhandling her, and a part of her _cannot stop thinking about_ the idea of him thinking about her. He’s been _thinking about_ her. In the shower. In his bed. She wonders – his car.. Logan’s hand covers her breast, the heel of his palm pushing it up, his thumb and forefinger sliding for the nipple. She breaks their kiss on an exhale, another delicious throb to her core.

The shower feels too small suddenly, Logan taking up all the room, restricting all her movements. She wants out. She wants out _yesterday_. Veronica pushes Logan off of her, and whether he’s momentarily stunned because he’s afraid of rejection or impressed with her musculature she’ll never care to know, because she grabs his hand and _drags_ him out of the shower with her. They’re barely in the hall before she’s turning around and kissing him some more, twisting her weight from foot to foot just to keep her momentum going and give minor relief to the pressure building between her legs.

She loves this part. She _loves_ it when he picks her up, holds her against his body, wrapping his whole arms around her torso as he kisses her. They walk just like that to what could only be her bedroom.

“Lights on?” he breaths, between kisses, and Veronica shakes her head. She reconsiders. No, lights off. Definitely lights off, for now. Maybe lights on later.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks back, just as breathless. Logan nods but doesn’t make to go get it, right away. That’s fine. That’s fine.

Logan drops her on her own bed, then yanks her pajamas out from under her and throws them on the ground. She forgot they were there and she definitely forgets about them now. He leans over her, kissing her again, and the weight of those kisses – she’s already used to them and already wants more. Their lips slide together easily, each tilt of her head matched with a tilt of his. His tongue touches her lips and touches her tongue, and then she remembers what she sort of asked for, because Logan breaks the kiss, and starts kissing down her throat.

Zero to sixty. Zero to _sixty_. This is, this feels pretty close to sixty (ha, oh no, the joke just popped into her head god damnit sixty nine ah) as Logan delicately kisses her navel.

His breath fans the heat there, and she twists her hips. Her last boyfriend always had this smug, withholding attitude toward oral sex, and the fact that Logan is offering it freely is giving him major points. Points like –

Wait. The thoughts. Where did her thoughts go. They all just empty out of her head at the first touch of his lips, then tongue. Then his lips again. _Oh god_.

His tongue moves against her, and a satisfied sort of groan reverberates against her oh so very intimate skin. Oh. The heat inside of her is such a heady pressure now, petty and demanding, and the more Logan moves against her the surer she is that she could be actually in love with him, or something. Because, how did it – how did it even _get_ to this point, Logan’s head between her thighs, his mouth open against her, his tongue flat against her like this, his fingers testing her, stroking her, _inside_ , like this. He’s not going to stop, she realizes, when she starts twisting her hips nearly helplessly and he just follows her with his mouth, not even breaking away. He’s not going to stop, and everything feels suddenly and completely overwhelming.

She’s going to come. She’s going to – oh my god. Logan’s mouth. He’s not. Going to. Stop.

He groans in earnest then, and Veronica splits apart inside, her arms and legs and voice totally helpless to the all-encompassing feeling of an orgasm given by another. She’s had orgasms in the last three years but now she thinks maybe she hasn’t, because of the way that all the pleasure ripples through her, all the tightening and release of it all. It’s some stupid flood of hormones, she knows, but she feels completely weak and helpless, mewing as Logan crawls up her body, his fingers still inside her, pumping slowly, prolonging the waves of pleasure. Has she ever been so pathetically vulnerable? She can barely think. She is such pure emotion and she touches his face and kisses him, kisses him deeply, in thanks, in stupid, absurd, thanks. Does he even know? He must know.

“Do you still want to have sex?” he asks her, and she’s so glad he didn’t ask something totally absurd like _did you - ?_ because, maybe it’s obvious, or something, the way her eyebrows are pinched, the way she is nearly convalescent with pleasure. Orgasms. God damn orgasms. She will never go a day without them again, maybe.

Veronica nods, maybe too eagerly, maybe not eagerly enough, but Logan grins as he disappears. She squirms on her own bedspread, the duvet bunched here and there where she’d mindlessly gripped it.

 _More_ , her body purrs, and she twists and squirms as she considers its demand. She’d never gone – never twice in one – _Ten times a week_.

Ten times a god damn week.

Mac’s text from days and days ago – damn her, she was so right. _Caught L.E. doing donuts in front of a funeral parlor what a cheeze wiz._ _Hey wait_ _I did not write cheeze wiz damn autocorrect stop making me look cool_. _Hey you need to get laid_ , Oh my goodness _everyone_ needs to get laid, when it feels like this.

Logan comes back, still delightfully naked, and Veronica watches as he stares openly at her own naked body. She wishes she felt even an ounce of embarrassment. Maybe she’d do something about her thighs or weird toes. But no. She’s replete. She’s thrumming with good energy, and Logan is looking at her, and he’s brought a condom, and, they’re going to have sex.

“Just yes or no, Veronica,” he murmurs, and Veronica wets her lips.

“Yes,” she says, and Logan’s shoulders sag, and he takes the last few steps to the bed.

He crawls over her body again and kisses her again, gently now, because with all the kissing they’ve been doing her lips are already feeling raw.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he whispers, and he leans between their bodies and she hears the rip of foil. Then she feels his fingers on her again, his two longest ones sweeping her opening, spreading the wetness he finds here. “You are beautiful,” he swears, sincerely, as the tip of his cock replaces the tips of his fingers. Veronica folds her body around his, her arms around his neck, her legs around his torso, and helps Logan guide into her, tilting her hips so he goes in, and in, and in. It just feels – it just feels so good, being full like this. Full. Perfect.

A little whining noise escapes her lips which she’s sure she’s never uttered before. And then Logan starts to move. It’s slow at first, shallow almost, ensuring nothing hurts, ensuring she’s comfortable with him. Her toes curl, the heat in her core throbs to life. She might – she could actually –

Investing in this project is not hard. Logan’s smell fills her nose. The sounds of his breaths fill her ears. His name fills her lips and her hands grip his skin, as they rock, and rock, and rock together. Logan licks his thumb and finds her clit, rubbing small circles as he pumps in and out of her, and the pressure builds and builds. She can feel the edge getting closer, and Logan’s tempo changes, his thrusts getting long and deep. He tries to pull away his hand to focus on what he’s doing with his hips but she grabs it before he can go, holding it in place. A shuddering groan tumbles out of Logan’s mouth and he bites back some louder noise, and there’s nothing about it, nothing specific, but she’s just – she just was already going to – Veronica comes again. It’s less intense, almost, just bordering on painful, all her synapses thoroughly spent. But it nevertheless happens, this second, complete orgasm, and she mindlessly spews some stream of ridiculous wordage.

She is liquid. She is limp. She could not move to save her own life, probably, and she holds on to Logan as best she can as he finishes with a satisfying gasp.

Is this what it’s like to be on drugs? The world, even just being inside her dark, dark bedroom; it’s just never been such a warm and beautiful place to be. She feels such gratefulness to the planet and the universe and everything.

He holds himself inside of her for what feels like a long time, holding himself over her with impressively toned muscles, and she just – she maybe never needs him to move. She is completely at peace, even as he finally kisses her face; her cheeks, her nose, her lips, each with these little gentle presses of his now-so-familiar lips. What is the hormone that floods out of you in moments like this? It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is is damn effective, because she’s sure if Logan wanted to move in and marry her or steal all her money or whatever she would just give it all up. She’s so pathetically _weak_ now, and maybe that’s the thought that finally gets her to move.

She swivels her hips, pulling back, inching up the bed for distance. Logan’s so tall she doesn’t get too far, definitely doesn’t get away from him, not by a long shot, and when she’s fully across the bed at some weird diagonal he slides out with an _oomph_ sort of noise but still doesn’t move. Maybe he’s feeling a bit of what she’s feeling. She’s surprised to realize that she’s smiling. But then, given that her mind is full of blissed-out rainbows and lazy butterflies, maybe it’s not so crazy at all.

“Please don’t kick me out,” Logan mumbles into her duvet cover, his words muffled as he smiles.

She full-on grins now. “What? There was nothing about staying.”

Logan angles his head up so he can see her face. They’ve both adjusted to the dark, by now. “I can’t. I’ve imprinted.”

She laughs a little. “Wait – if this is you telling me something weird about your mother – “

“Yeah, let’s, just forget I used the word imprinted.”

She laughs again.

Logan moves closer and grins into her skin. “I’m serious. Don’t kick me out. I’ll pay you.”

She splutters. “You’ll _pay me?_ ”

“With breakfast burritos.”

Veronica laughs yet again. It must be some sort of stupid record. Hormones. That’s all. Damn oxytocin. Her limbs working again, Veronica rolls on top of him, straddling his chest with either knee. She looks down at him, hair wet and messy, cheeks flushed, skin mostly dry, by now.

“I want extra guacamole,” she warns, and Logan grins up at her, nearly laughing himself.

“I’d say you’ve earned it, yeah,” he says, and she swats him with an open hand.

Logan grabs that hand, kisses it, then folds his free hand behind his head. “Hey,” he says. “You got an extra pair of pajamas?”

Veronica wakes up blazing hot in an air conditioned room.

She groans a little, shifting her weight, finding Logan Echolls’ arm wrapped around her torso like a vice. Like he was worried she’d split, or something; bolt in the night. She rolls her eyes and slips under his limbs, practically slithering to the ground so as not to jostle him too much in her escape. She has to pee. She wants some coffee. She – she checks her bedside clock – she slept six hours, uninterrupted. Huh.

Veronica feels a little smug as she heads to the bathroom.

She comes back to the bedroom with a big glass of water, having already gulped down two full ones herself, this one some sort of gift for Logan, maybe. He’s still completely asleep, his body migrated all the way to her side of the bed, a tangle of sheets in his wake. She’s sure she pushed him back to _his_ side at least three times while half-awake.

Her cotton, heart-printed pajamas are tight as heck across his butt and his thighs, and they stop at mid-calf. She’ll never let him take them off, maybe.

Or really.

Hmm. She looks at his butt some more. Yeah, okay, maybe she most definitely _will_.

With an eager little smile, Veronica puts the glass of water on the bedside table, and starts crawling over the bed towards its occupant.

Breakfast burritos can wait.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Covers (AliLamba fics)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746631) by [VeronicaMarsFanArt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaMarsFanArt/pseuds/VeronicaMarsFanArt)




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